


Shredded Gossamer

by chipperdyke



Series: Shredded Gossamer Series [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Bellamione Cult's May Event 2020, Cheating, Exes, F/F, Implied/Referenced miscarriage, Same Age, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:34:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24168163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chipperdyke/pseuds/chipperdyke
Summary: Bella goes to a ball expecting to be bored and leave early, but Hermione shows up unannounced. Bella is quickly drawn in by the woman she promised to marry when they were still at Hogwarts, but can the power of their long-lost love surmount the reason they broke up in the first place?
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Rodolphus Lestrange, Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Series: Shredded Gossamer Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744324
Comments: 7
Kudos: 224





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MagicNonCreator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicNonCreator/gifts).



> This is a continuation of Precious, Brief, and was written as a stand-alone that can be read separately. 
> 
> Thank you to the lovely DelphiBlack_Granger who reviewed for standalone readability, and to MagicNonCreator for an amazing initial concept and being a great support and sounding board. Go Team!

Bellatrix Lestrange snarled, "Stop that."

Rodolphous grunted and his foot stopped tapping. Their carriage shook and dipped unsteadily, and Bellatrix watched her husband grab at the handholds inside the carriage to prevent himself from being flung forward into the table between them. She leaned back disinterestedly, riding out the rocking of the carriage without effort. 

"If you'd hired a service of actual quality," she started when the carriage leveled back out, "perhaps you wouldn't be unseated." She tucked her wand back up the slender sleeve of her ball gown, watching him as he straightened the Fleur de Lys tie at his neck, giving her a hostile glare. 

"It's a short ride to the Malfoys'," he said finally. 

"And you'll look like you've been mauled by the time we get there."

He muttered something that sounded like, "By you," and she turned her head sharply and looked through the window. The lights of Muggle London shone brightly in the midwinter night, far below them. 

When she turned her head back, he'd scrounged out a pile of old wrapping paper and newsprint and was painstakingly transfiguring it into a chess set. She watched as the paper fused as if by glue into the misshapen pieces. Her husband had little magical skill, and the pieces were recognizable but remained paper, so that parts of some words were still readable. An entire sentence curled around the body of the largest piece, the queen. 

He had enough skill that the pieces stuck securely to the table, though, when the carriage dipped again. Hers were the black; he took white, and nudged the first pawn forward with the tip of his wand. 

Bella sighed and tapped the table. The lines of the chessboard drew themselves in a webbing pattern from the tip of her wand, and the pieces jumped into their places, semi-mobile but stiff. 

This was his bid for some peace, offering up one of the few pasttimes they both enjoyed. She'd make him rue it. She mapped out her next few moves as she nudged her first pawn wandlessly forward; Rod was terribly predictable in chess, as in everything else he did. 

A rare silence fell over the carriage, and when they landed on the ground and rolled through the gates of their relatives' manor, she was within four turns of winning. One of the carriage's wheels made a deep groaning sound and began squeaking loudly as they queued behind the rest of the carriages. They both ignored it, engrossed in the game. Bella could see a bead of sweat form at Rod's temple and then roll down his ill-shaven cheek. His hair was in dissarray, already graying in his mid-twenties. At least he was still handsome, despite his lack of grooming. And, a few years into their marriage, he'd entirely lost interest in his beautiful but cold and domineering wife. He'd preferred her malleable, but she was impossible to intimidate now, and she'd learned just how to laugh at him to put him off entirely. 

His king shredded into thin strips of paper, and Rod flung the door of the carriage open and jumped out, offering his hand to her. The shredded pieces of their chess game were a halo around her as she descended, and she dropped his hand the instant she was out of the carriage, walking quickly enough that he had to trot after her up the steps. 

Abraxas Malfoy greeted them at the door. "A pity about your mother," he said after kissing both of Bella's cheeks. 

"A pity," she echoed distantly, and a rare surge of satisfaction filled her chest. She could feel his inquisitive stare. Everyone suspected her involvement in her mother's sudden lapse into debilitation. And they were not wrong. Some, like Narcissa, thought that it was just deserts for what Druella had done to Bella in her sixth year at Hogwarts. The only question was why it had taken Bella so long to exact her revenge, and the answer was that Bella had waited until she found an adequate instrument for torture. Druella had a few months left to live, locked in her own mind, but those months would be painful and death, when it came, would be a relief. 

The ballroom was decked out in the extravagant Malfoy style, with long, white banners and golden globe lights that hovered just over the tallest of the guests. Bella thought, as she scanned the dozen purebloods who'd been slightly more prompt than she, that Narcissa would fit right in with this family. 

Narcissa hadn't arrived. She'd told Bella that Lucius would escort her here. As the party was partially to celebrate their official engagement, that meant that it hadn't yet begun. 

Rod stood by her side for a few minutes, but disappeared soon thereafter. Typical. Bella did not enjoy dancing, but some part of her was embarrassed that he wouldn't even bother to wait for one dance before secreting himself away with his friends, drinking whiskey and playing cards, pissing away the little money he had. His choices didn't matter to Bella, and he had never earned any loyalty from her, but she did not plan to live in poverty and he was low on her list of people to kill. So she was irritated. 

Her aunt, Walburga Black, appeared with the boy Sirius on her arm. He brought her to a table set in the back of the ballroom, and Bella studied the woman, gears turning. She'd just offed her mother this week, and hadn't yet directed her attention to her next target, but she wouldn't waste this chance to observe her prey. She knew that Druella Black nee Rosier had been principally responsible for the poison that had taken away her child before she was born, so long ago. But her mother and aunt had always been close, and the same method had been used on Daisy Crabbe, Walburga's sister. Walburga was almost as culpable as Bella's mother in what happened to her.

The woman was notoriously ill-tempered, frail now, but with a voice that still shook the rafters. She made her own prison of misery, didn't she? Her worst torment would be to be trapped and impotent, but still able to express her eternal discontent. Bella would trap her soul, she decided smugly. It was just a matter of how. 

A few ladies passed her, looking down their noses, not stopping to greet her. Bella stared them down hostilely. There was no reason for her to develop relationships with any of the ill-bred, vapid creatures the Malfoys liked to entertain. She would never have come, except to support her sister. 

The band in the corner struck up a tune, and the gathered crowd quieted, turning toward the door. 

Narcissa and Lucius swept through the open doors, bowing graciously to the guests, and immediately began the first dance of the evening. They were a good-looking couple, Bella thought. Nobody would ever be worthy of her sister, but Lucius pleased Narcissa, and he was adequately terrified of Bella. He was as good a match as any. Bella could protect her sister from much, but the requirement to marry would have been an unnecessary stretch. Even Bella couldn't escape that, although for a brief moment she'd thought her marriage might take a different form. 

On-cue, a vision of Hermione Granger appeared in the entryway to the ballroom. Odd, that she wore a suit; Bella had never seen her in anything more formal than the school robes. Odd, too, that she was on the arm of Delilah Yaxley; Bella hadn't ever seen them together before this. Oddest still, that other attendees turned to stare at them. 

Bella went cold and stumbled backward, trying to shield herself in the crowd. It was not a vision - it was the actual woman, in the flesh! Bella had thought that she'd die before seeing Hermione again, but here she was, at one of the few events Bella ever attended. On the arm of a pureblood, clearly a scandal that Yaxley was happy to be at the center of. 

So the rumors of Delilah's unnatural tastes were accurate. And Hermione Granger had moved on. It had been five years, and Bella had done everything in her power not to follow Hermione's comings and goings. Sometimes that was difficult. Everyone seemed to want to watch her face as they shared salacious gossip about the woman who'd nearly been Bella's undoing. She couldn't escape the shadowy presence of the older girl. 

Hermione was a good dancer, unsurprisingly. She had her hair in a loose braid, sleek, and her suit fit her shoulders and hips snugly, showing off her powerful build. The years since Quidditch had been kind to the Mudblood. Bella observed her hungrily, hating herself for it, knowing that she was being watched by the other partygoers, not caring enough to stop. Hermione was more beautiful than she'd remembered. She practically glowed under the golden lights, her skin honey-browned by the sun, elegant but athletic, a child no longer. 

Bella's heart clenched in her chest and she exhaled hatred from the depths of her lungs. Yaxley would die for daring to touch Hermione Granger. The years of loss and longing came back to Bella in a storm, and she put her hand up to her chest. Her dress was high-necked, but she pressed her hand against her chest and felt the fine golden chain of her necklace dig into her skin. Her hand formed a fist.

A voice broke through her reverie. "You're stunning, Bella." Bella turned sharply, meeting her sister's clear blue eyes. 

"Narcissa," Bella breathed out, coming to her senses. "How are you?" Narcissa arched her eyebrow, seeing through Bella's confusion. "I came to celebrate you," Bella told her hurriedly, trying to put her off. 

"Lucius went to get us drinks," Narcissa said. She beamed happily. "And I guess you'll just stand in the corner for a few hours and then leave, so I wanted to say hello before that happens."

"I'm mingling," Bella protested. 

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "I don't think anyone knew Yaxley's plus one would be Granger," she told Bella under her breath. "I'm sorry. We would have stopped it if we'd known." 

At seventeen, she was already talking like a wife. Bella hated that. She hated her circumstances, and the reminder of them. Her own reflection in Narcissa's eyes was ugly to her. Even the method of her revenge against her family seemed petty and banal. She observed her life from afar - from the distance between her actual situation and Hermione Granger, turning and tilting on the ballroom floor - and hated every detail, down to the conservative ballgown and the squeaking wheel of the cheap carriage she'd taken here. 

Lucius appeared, said a few friendly words, and Bella murmured platitudes to the boy mindlessly. Finally he led Narcissa away, and when Bella turned back toward the ballroom floor, Hermione was no longer dancing there.

In a panic, Bella turned and fled down the nearest corridor. She pushed open a drawing-room door, finding it occupied by three ladies. Uncaring, she entered, standing by the wall. The women turned back to their conversation after seeing that it was her.

Bella breathed deeply, trying to still her rapidly beating heart. She felt an acute sense of loss. How flimsy were the trappings of her life, if they would be ripped so easily away by just the sight of a past lover? How deeply Bella longed to escape them now, except that her only possible escape was in the form of a woman that Bella could not bear the presence of. The weight of her teenage dream, the taste of bile on her tongue, Hermione Granger with her arms wrapped around a tiny, still body - Bella could not stand and bear those memories at the same time. She felt herself weaken and begin to slide down to sitting against the wall.

The door to the drawing room opened, and the sounds of music and laughter filtered in. Bella steadied herself, and the ladies in the room tittered and gathered their bags, glancing between Bella and the intruder.

Hermione kept the door open for them, and locked it behind them as they left, leaving them alone. The sounds of the party were only a dull background rumble. 

They stood silently, examining each other, each daring the other to be the first to speak. 

"You have a lot of nerve," Bella said stiffly, finally. 

"Delilah offered to bring me. I wanted to see you."

Bella scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder, trying to stand straighter. 

"I heard about what happened to your mother." Hermione's gaze was steady, her eyes somehow piercing. The pride Bella had felt earlier that evening deflated into a sordid feeling. "I wanted to be sure - to know for sure that you are all right."

"I am fine," Bella told her coldly, trying to recapture the calm she'd had the last time they spoke. She'd been so certain then - so capable of putting Hermione behind her. How had the years lessened and not enhanced her determination? But they had.

Hermione threaded a pathway around the couches and came up close enough to touch. She reached out a hand, hovered it over Bella's chest where the golden chain rested. "You're still wearing it. My ring. I can tell."

Bella turned stiffly away from her, not trusting herself enough to speak, and Hermione dropped her hand and laughed bitterly. 

"On the day you were married, I wanted to go and tell them you couldn't marry him. Tell them you were promised to me." Bella turned her head to see Hermione's lip twisted, a tear glistening in her eye. 

That small vulnerability bolstered Bella's confidence. "I was never yours," she spat harshly, finding her center. "I told you that you were unworthy from the start."

"You said I didn't deserve you," Hermione corrected, swallowing. "But I always thought you meant that I shouldn't take you for granted. Do you mean to say that Rod deserves you?" She laughed again, ironically. "I can't imagine that you think that, even after all this time."

"You destroyed my life," Bella reminded her. 

"What happened was an accident, but it wouldn't have destroyed us. It was your mother who did that. But you've had your revenge now, haven't you?" Hermione bit her lip, frowning. "Does it help at all?"

_ No, _ Bella realized. She reached out and placed her hand on one crisp, jacketed shoulder, feeling the warmth of Hermione's body through the fabric. She felt years drop away. Perhaps it was not age that burdened her shoulders. 

"This helps," Bella told her without thinking. She tipped her head forward, bringing their foreheads together, and remembered being safe. It was a distant memory, foreign now. 

"I still love you," Hermione whispered. "If you couldn't tell."

Bella breathed out and closed her eyes. Oh, the dream that had consumed her sixth year at Hogwarts - how it had seemed so distant, so impossible and silly - and how close it felt, standing there in the silent dimness with Hermione. It was more real than anything, because the dream included emotions that were not rage or hate or indifference. It was nice that Hermione could stand there and let Bella touch her lightly. If Hermione tried to hold her, losing control of the situation might break the spell. But she didn't - Bella had taught her well, long ago, to defer to her. To let her lead. 

Bella slid her hand up and around Hermione's neck, pulling her down. When she kissed her lips, the world went up in flame.

They broke apart for breath, and Bella found that Hermione's hands rested on her waist and that their bodies were flush, free-standing, nearly floating. She pressed herself closer to Hermione, burying her face in her neck, smelling freshness that nearly made Bella's mouth water. Her entire body was alight with a glow, a lightness. She recognized the feeling as desire when Hermione breathed into her ear, "So it's not over."

"It will never be over," Bella responded with a shiver, pulling back to look at her deeply. She felt her control spiraling, the possibilities endless, and yet her words made Hermione's smile fade. 

"Leave here with me," Hermione begged. "I can protect you from them now. I swear that I will."

"Five years is long enough for me to know that you can't." Before Hermione could answer, she kissed her again. If possible, Hermione kissed her with even more passion than she had before. But she was silent when they broke apart, considering Bella with hooded eyes. 

Bella needed space to breathe, but she couldn't imagine separating herself fully from Hermione. An idea came to her, and she said, "You're still the daughter of a machinist. The wheel of my carriage squeaks badly. Come outside with me and help me fix it. Rod is useless in these things."

"All right," Hermione said, complacent, maybe as grateful as Bella for the opportunity to walk together out of the stifling room. She followed Bella down the corridor in the opposite direction from the ballroom. There was a side exit Bella knew, and they slipped through it together without too much scrutiny. 

Bella had some trouble finding her carriage in the empty lot. What servants there were had congregated at a far corner and did not seem to notice them. Hermione pushed at the carriage, easily summoning the irritating sound, and then bent beneath it, lighting her wand. 

Bella wrapped her arms around her body and watched her. With the distance between them, Hermione became almost a stranger to her. She wondered detachedly if she'd be seduced enough to follow her. She wondered if Hermione would not give up on asking, because if she asked again Bella thought she'd probably go along with it. 

A little time to think was welcome, but her thoughts were sluggish and confused. She could only watch Hermione's legs, listen to the soft sound of her straining under the carriage. It was no mystery to Bella, how they'd come together again. Some part of her had been waiting all this time for it. Most of Bella had died with their relationship, with the child who was not meant to be born. The possibility of some other future in which Bella was able to live again felt both unreal, and nearly close enough to grasp.

Hermione emerged, cheek smudged with some greasy soot. She pulled off her jacket, leaving greasy black stains on the front of her white shirt, which she did not seem to notice. Huffing a little, she looked at Bella, and then sat down on the ground and swung her head under the carriage again. 

Bella looked at her legs. With her eyes, she traced the lines of Hermione's stomach under her form-fitting shirt. And when Hermione extracted herself from the carriage and gave it one more push, grinning with vague triumph, Bella thought no more than to open the carriage door and draw her inside and on top of her.

Hermione kissed her and pulled up her skirt, tracing a familiar line up the outside of her stockinged thigh. Bella pulled the carriage door closed with her magic and shredded her own stockings, taking a little more care with her panties. Her sixth year had taught her how uncomfortable running around with no underwear could be. 

Hermione didn't hesitate at all. She took Bella's wide open legs as the invitation it was and probed Bella's wetness with one finger, skillfully teasing her clit. Pleasure shot up Bella's legs and into her belly. Bella undid Hermione's belt and the top button of her pants, ripping the additional fastener, and returned the touch. Hermione's body felt familiar to her, throbbing and wet under her fingers, and her muscle memory returned instantly. Hermione would wait until Bella penetrated her to return the touch. Even weighed down by Hermione's hips, Bella was in control. She felt consumed by her own emotion and the connection of this position, but - despite everything - she also felt safe. Hermione was safe. Bella didn't have enough time to understand what that meant, more than - 

"Closer," she panted. Her magic swirled around them, an uncontrolled storm of energy that swept up the paper from the chess game. Teasing tendrils undid Hermione's hair and the buttons of her shirt. The hot wind whipped both of their faces, despite the midwinter chill in the air.

Hermione was focused, her eyes dark. She gave no hint of pleasure, or pain when Bella scratched a long line up her back. Bella drew her head down and kissed her fiercely, slipping a single finger inside her, and Hermione gasped, her frosty demeanor breaking. She entered Bella with one finger that quickly became two. The stretch was only briefly painful; Bella had not had sex for over two years. 

Hermione seemed to notice, and started slow, a furrow passing across her brow. Bella stroked her in return, engaging the side of her hand against her clit, and Hermione panted and began thrusting into her. Her body tightened around Bella's finger, and her face flushed. 

"Hermione," Bella whispered, locking her legs around Hermione's hips. Hermione's eyes flickered up to meet Bella's. She looked - not like she felt safe, or happy - her face fell into a frown, but her mouth was open and her chest heaved.

Bella couldn't breathe, either. She tried to inhale Hermione. She tried to drink her, consume her. Meld their bodies together into one. This was what she'd done in sixth year - this was what had gotten them into such trouble - Bella threw all caution to the wind.  _ I've learned nothing, _ she thought to herself.  _ I am as foolish as I was when she was my entire world.  _

And then she thought,  _ She is still my entire world. _

Bella pulled her hand away from Hermione's body, and Hermione jolted and slipped out of her, beginning to pull away. Bella wrapped her arms around her shoulders and pulled her down on top of her, and their bodies kept moving like they were still fucking. The ghost of Hermione's fingers was more real than anything she'd felt since she left her. 

Bella held Hermione's cheek and kissed her so hard that Hermione brought her wet hand up Bella's leg and slipped back between her folds. 

"Yes," Bella cried, and then cursed. "I want you," she told her, holding her face away so that their eyes met, hips bucking against the teasing touch. "I want you to be  _ happy, _ Hermione. You look like you might cry."

Hermione bared her teeth and said her first words since they'd entered the carriage. "I told you what I want. But if it's a cheap fuck you want, I guess I'm here for that, too." Her voice was ragged and hurt, but her fingers continued to work against Bella's clit, massaging her entrance without penetrating her. Bella's body wept with wanting, but she stopped her hips' movement and Hermione stilled her hand without pulling away again.

"This isn't cheap," Bella told her. She ran her thumb across Hermione's brow, gently, trying to smooth away the frown. 

"Tell me I've misunderstood," Hermione said. "That you'll walk away from this with me."

Bella's breath stopped. The second time asking - would this be the one that convinced her? She felt utterly reckless. She felt like the decision would be made for her, one way or another. She felt trapped, a fly in a web, a fly with the power to destroy the spider but only by detonating a nuclear bomb. 

"I haven't known you for five years, Hermione. You won't be satisfied unless I promise you forever, right now?" Bella searched Hermione's face. "You're going to cry while you fuck me if I don't leave my life behind for you?"

Hermione laughed a little. "When you put it that way…"

Bella smiled back at her, grateful to see the brighter expression. "When I put it that way, we should have met for drinks and not fucked at all."

Hermione grimaced and nodded, but she didn't move her hand away. 

"Inside me," Bella breathed, and Hermione wrapped her arm securely around Bella's back and fucked her deeply, rocking the carriage with the force of her strokes. Bella ran her hands down Hermione's chest, winded her fingers in Hermione's hair, bit her neck and her shoulder, orgasmed so hard that her hearing faded out and she nearly fainted. 

And then Hermione lay her head down on Bella's chest and Bella kissed her hair, hands still straying everywhere she could reach. The carriage bench seemed hard and cramped now. 

There was no reason to stay here. Boundary established, Bella could easily leave Rod to his whiskey and two-bit friends. He might not even notice she was gone. 

"All right," she whispered. "Bring me to your bed."

Hermione looked up at her with a flashing grin. They were gone a moment later. The shredded paper made a small tornado in the empty space their bodies left behind. 


	2. Chapter 2

They were too tangled up for Bella to differentiate limb from limb, and yet she struggled to find an aloneness with Hermione. They'd slept, tangled in the bedsheets, and when Bella awoke sleepily she thought it was in Hermione's Head Girl bed, in that too-large room with the many-paned window. Looking up, though, she saw the dirty uncertain light of the London morning shining through a wide-paned, Muggle-looking window. She shuddered and nestled closer to the naked body of her lover, wishing for the kind of closeness she'd felt then.

This Hermione was distant and cold. She was physically available, but emotionally absent. Bella had wrenched some details of her life from the girl - she'd gone into Magical Law Enforcement, which made sense given her Quidditch prowess and dueling ability, but the job didn't seem to excite her. She was like an untamed stallion, just the woman Bella had nearly managed to domesticate during their time at Hogwarts. Bella had been young then, and incapable of imagining any real competition. Even now, she thought that Hermione should bow and scrape for her attention, although she was married. But Hermione Granger did nothing of the sort. She'd be Bella's stud, and nothing more. That was the blankness behind her eyes. Available, but for one thing.

And Bella knew that there was more she could have. She still had, in fact, Hermione's ring around her neck. Some part of Bella longed to leverage that, as Hermione had leveraged it during their meeting two weeks ago in the Malfoy Manor. And yet they had not yet managed to have a conversation that neared the depths of the two- or three-sentence confrontation in the Manor drawing-room. So many possible observers, and yet Hermione had bared her heart that night as she hadn't in the days they spent together since.

Rod knew. How could he not, with the rumors swirling of their dalliance during mid-winter's ball? He'd tried to strike her with his hand two days ago when she returned to their house mid-morning, and she'd hexed him so badly he couldn't sit for hours. He never did say anything, probably relying upon Hermione's Mudblood status to keep bringing his wife back to him. He thought Bella cared about such things. 

Bella nestled into Hermione's neck and murmured, "I am wet."

Hermione stirred sleepily and turned herself on top of Bella, leaving soft kisses along her jaw and temple. "I'll brush my teeth and come back," she said.

"You'll be late," Bella muttered, almost bitterly. It was a Tuesday, and Hermione was required to report at nine o'clock sharp. It was already 8:15, if the Muggle clock at their bedside was correct. 

Hermione stilled, and then said, "You want me now?"

"Yes," Bella breathed, and it was true that she'd awoken wet with the memory of their time at Hogwarts, and the weight of the lost child in her belly. That would not happen, but something could, before Hermione left. 

Hermione buried her face in Bella's neck and her fingers scrambled between them. Before, Bella had made the effort to return the gesture, but now it only seemed to distract and upset the Muggleborn. 

Hermione's fingers quested across her wetness, and then inside, softly. She hooked instantly up with her fingers, and Bella felt the fullness, the contentment and absolute joy of having Hermione Granger inside her. 

"Deeper," Bella breathed, and Hermione dug her fingers through Bella's welcoming wetness into the deep parts of her. The motion made a wet sound, and Bella arched her back and breathed. 

"Bellatrix," Hermione whispered, and Bella had the brief sensation that she, too, was in the fantasy of their life in Hogwarts. Bella had been seventeen, and Hermione eighteen, and they'd imagined their love to be powerful enough to destroy every decent sense and the Blacks together in one stroke. 

"I'm yours," Bella breathed. "In every inch," and Hermione pulled away, looking at Bella with eyes that thinly disguised a deep hurt. 

"Please," Bella said. Hermione was still deep inside. She canted her hips up to catch Hermione's fingers as they paused. "I want you so badly." 

The gutteral sound at the end of the phrase seemed to catch Hermione's attention, and she bowed her head to Bella's chest, taking a nipple in her lips, and dug her fingers in deeper. "I want everything we had," Bella told her. Her body seemed to open up, and a third finger slipped inside as if by accident. Hermione's face was flushed and her lips were a pretty pink, a vision of radiance, her own personal goddess.

"Yes," Bella breathed deeply. Her hips responded, pressing upward into the touch. "Harder, Hermione."

Hermione seemed to respond instinctively. She pressed more deeply, stroking Bella's inner wall and the tip of her clitoris, and the two of them convulsed in brief agony and ecstasy, breathing heavily. 

"If it were up to me we would have conceived," Bella said when she'd regained her breath. It was more to provoke a reaction from Hermione than it was strictly the truth, although the choice probably hurt Bella as much as it did Hermione. The old wound was still fresh. 

"You'd rather I was a man," Hermione said bitingly. The time on the electronic clock read 8:35.

"I'd rather you let me in," Bella answered, reveling in the reaction she'd provoked, hating that Hermione thought she wanted her to be anything but what she was. Hermione pulled her fingers out and went to the bathroom.

Bella followed her to the door, wishing to drape herself over the woman and drag her back to bed with her. Wanting at least to have her look at her, but Hermione was brushing her teeth and focused on the mirror image of herself. She did not turn her head. There wasn't much room between her and the toilet, and Bella didn't want to wedge herself between just to be rejected.

"If you were a man I would already have your seed inside me," Bella told her, lingering in the doorway. She was still naked, but felt as invisible as a shadow without Hermione's attention on her. 

Hermione spit out her toothpaste and said, "You'd do that over leaving Rod."

Bella held her necklace on her pinkie finger, letting the silver ring Hermione had given her rest on her fingertip. She'd shrunk it down to the size of the chain-links long ago, but she could still find it easily. It glowed with potential that nobody could feel but the two of them. "Is that all it would take, to have you in full?"

Hermione gave her a frowning glance, wiping her lips on a towel. 

"All it would take, Bella?" she asked her, before shouldering past to the closet where she dressed. She'd be late, Bella knew without checking any of Hermione's Muggle clocks. Some sense of satisfaction filled Bella's chest at the realization. 

Bella watched Hermione wordlessly as she dressed, wiry-strong limbs clothed in loose black polyester. She seemed incensed and continued to speak, although Bella had not answered her. "What else? To ignite a wizarding war, just to have a Black and a Muggleborn committed to each other in a shantyhouse?" Hermione laughed under her breath and disappeared through the Floo before Bella could respond. Hermione exaggerated, of course. Maybe she was still trying to understand why Bella had not left Rod.

She drifted through the rooms. The kitchen, with a Muggle cookstove and some pots in which Hermione had prepared a stew for them just a few days before. The bedroom - there was just one - with a sunken-in mattress and a solitary bookshelf. Overflowing volumes were stacked on the ends of the bookshelf, as if a tall stack might magically conjure a larger bookshelf. 

Every aspect of Hermione's lifestyle was both base and alluring to Bella. She thought the idea of stacking new books alongside a bookshelf might make each book by association more precious. Yet, she couldn't imagine a life in which she had more books than shelves. The Lestrange Estate had a separate room for books. It was triple the size of Hermione's quaint flat. 

And the kitchen - every meal Hermione cooked reminded Bella that she'd have to cook too, if she lived here. She rebelled against the thought. 

And she rebelled against the idea of returning to Rod now. Her core was warm and satisfied. So what, if Hermione did not open herself to Bella as long as she continued to go back to Rod. It was enough closeness, to feel the ghost of her fingers inside. 

Bella browsed the refrigerator and flipped through Hermione's book of recipes, finding a few well-worn pages. She started the stovetop and pulled a few vegetables out. How hard could it be, to be a Muggle wife, to prepare a dinner for your hard-working partner? The page before her held the instructions. Bella was confident. 

  
  


Hermione smelled the smoke before she entered her home. The windows were open and her pots - her pots, at least two of them, were caked with unrecognizably burnt food. Had Bellatrix tried to make lunch? The smoke was stale and the stovetop was cold. 

She picked up the phone on the countertop and placed a takeout order at the pizza shop on the corner. It was too late to go shopping for groceries, and Hermione was tired. 

She shouldered open the bedroom door and was halfway through unbuttoning her shirt before she saw the shape in the bed. It was Tuesday. Hermione had forgotten that she made plans with Lucy. 

"Hey," she said, clearing her throat. Lucy was not normally a bold lover, so she was surprised she'd gotten in bed. More surprised that it seemed that she was asleep. 

The shape stirred, and Hermione shrugged off her shirt and bra, letting them fall on the floor. 

Her first clue that something was wrong was a glimpse of tightly-curled black hair under the pillow. Belatedly, Hermione backed away from the bed. 

Bellatrix launched herself at Hermione in a flurry of thin limbs and spitting fury.

"You invited a girl here!" Bellatrix howled. Her nails were sharp although short and she clawed deep lines in Hermione's arms, propelling Hermione back out the door and into the hallway connecting to the kitchen, bathroom, and living room. Her chest was a blotchy red under the white nightdress, like it was when they were fucking. 

"Take it easy," Hermione started, mind spinning. Bella hadn't gone back to Rod! She was happy enough to realize it that she smiled, putting a hand on Bella's waist as the girl pummeled her chest tearfully. 

"Don't laugh," Bella said fiercely. 

"I'm not laughing," Hermione told her with an irrepressible chuckle. Who ever knew that Bellatrix Lestrange's fury at her lover would take such a form. 

"I hate you," Bella howled. "I'll make you pay. I'll destroy you."

"Can you slow down?" Hermione caught Bella's wrists in her hands and held her away from her, meeting wild eyes under a halo of disheveled hair. She looked like the woman in Mr. Rochester's attic, crazy enough to set the entire apartment complex on fire. Hermione tried to school her face into a more solemn expression and nearly managed it. 

Bella twisted her hand out of Hermione's grip and pulled out her wand. _"Cruc -"_

Hermione grabbed her wrist and pointed the wand at the ceiling, amusement vanishing instantly. They stood in the hallway, staring at each other silently for a few long beats. 

"Let's sit down," Hermione said, and she nodded toward the living room couch. 

Bella huffed and looked suddenly pleased. The reason for it became clear when Hermione lit the overhead light. 

Bella had destroyed all the furniture in the room. The couch cushions were strewn, open, around the floor. Nearly all the books had fallen, and the bookshelf lay in pieces. Small fires had lit everywhere and then been doused, or burned themselves out. Hermione should have recognized the smell in the apartment as something other than burning food. 

Hermione sighed and looked back at Bella. "We'll repair it. I'll take the day off tomorrow, if you'll stay tonight and tomorrow with me."

"I won't," Bella said haughtily. "I thought I'd go back home tonight, but I had to _hurt you_ first."

Hermione wrapped her arms around the slight figure of the younger witch, burying her face in her hair. She inhaled the scent of her wayward lover, feeling a glow ignite in her chest that had nothing to do with the fight they had not yet finished.

"You said you loved me," Bella mumbled. Hermione had only said it the once, at the Malfoy Manor, but that had been before Hermione was caught in this dreadful in-between. She hadn't imagined that Bella would kiss her. Or any of this, the visits, the sex. 

"You want me to take no other lovers," Hermione said, a statement made into a question. 

"Did you imagine that you were _allowed_ to?" Bella scoffed. She returned the hug tightly then, pressing her body up to Hermione's. The nightdress was thin between their breasts and stomachs. "Don't you realize that you are mine alone?"

"You planned to stay," Hermione said. "So stay. I'll have no other lovers if you don't." She meant Rod, although some hopeful, possessive part of her suspected that Bellatrix Lestrange did not sleep with her husband.

Bella was silent. Hermione could feel her rapid breath. She felt like a bird, delicate, vibrating, unsure. Hermione could not hold her any tighter, although she wished she could. A tighter grip would make her fly. 

"Bella, I do love you. We can do this, I am sure of it. Let them do their worst. As long as we're together - that's everything I need."

Bella drew back and looked into Hermione's eyes. She was pale and her eyes were still too-large, frighteningly intense. "We'll lose everything. Are you ready to get fired from the Ministry? To go on the run?"

"Andy didn't have to -"

"Rod won't stand for my leaving. He will send people to kill you and take me back. And his father will provide the funding, since Rod pisses away his allowance every month as it is."

"You'll have to divorce him," Hermione said. "And I work in law enforcement. The Aurors - my colleagues - assassination remains illegal."

"They are above the law, dove," Bella told her condescendingly. "I won't have you just to lose you again."

Hermione studied her face, feeling the warm hope in her chest fade away into coldness. Bella watched it happen, and pulled Hermione's face down to kiss her, as if to catch her hope and bring it back. 

"It is really what you want," Bella whispered between kisses, as if it was a new realization. Hermione's hands came to rest on the collar of the nightdress, feeling it gossamer-thin under her fingertips, and then Hermione closed her hands into fists and ripped the nightdress down the front. She backed Bella to the bed, and Bella didn't resist her. 

Hermione ran to the corner shop before it closed, and they heated up the pizza in her oven and ate it standing in the kitchen. Bella's hands couldn't seem to leave Hermione for long, although she was famished - hadn't eaten all day, apparently. Hermione returned the touches. Half the pizza gone, the other half heating in the oven, Hermione led Bella in a tight box step dance, spinning her by the window, and then pulling her in tightly to her chest. It was never tight enough to keep her, but Hermione was too lost not to try. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Xilizhra for helping me get through my writer's block and to the cult for being buds and great!

Bellatrix Lestrange settled her hips into the hard, tight chair across the desk of the Head Auror. The man sat after she did, setting his hands down on the desk before him with fingers laced. 

Bella had already prepared her statement, and didn’t pause to center herself before beginning, although she’d prefer to. “Sir, I’ve gotten wind of an plot to murder an innocent Muggleborn shopkeep in Diagon Alley. I’m reporting it to you now so that you can stop it.”

The man raised an immaculate eyebrow in response. “A murder? Does this have any connection to the terrorist strikes that have been occurring in the Alley of late?”

“Indeed it does.” Bella straightened her spine and stared the man straight in the face. “It is the same group of terrorists. And they are headed by my husband, Rodolpus Lestrange.”

“I see.” 

They stared each other down. The Auror doubtless had some reservations about her - even he, common-born as he was, must have heard the rumors about the death of her mother and the possible affair with Hermione Granger, a Muggleborn. But he couldn’t dismiss her outright. Indeed, it was likely that the terrorist attacks had been a thorn in his side as much as anyone’s. 

“Well. Will you give me the time and location? I will send my best unit to stop it.”

“I will,” Bella said, drawing it out. “But only if you swear that you will participate in the - the _sting,_ and that you’ll grant me total immunity. I haven’t been a part of the other attacks, but he’s asked me to join for this one.” 

The man looked at her blankly for a long moment, and then he nodded curtly. “I’ll see to it, Madam Lestrange. And thank you for stepping forward.”

“I saw it as my duty,” she said crisply, and told him the details. She stood and saw herself out of the Headquarters, enduring the long glances of the many Aurors prowling those chill, lifeless and white corridors. 

She went home to Rod, finding him in his study, deep in a bottle of whiskey. 

“You made it home tonight,” he slurred when he saw her pass the doorway. He tried to lunge out of his chair to pursue her, but some combination of the alcohol and habit meant that he never made it out of the study. 

She locked her door behind herself, watching the magical seal take shape around the edges of the doorframe. It was a relief, she thought, that she wouldn’t have to endure this for much longer. 

She thought of Hermione as one of those Aurors in that soulless place. She’d never been to the Headquarters before, and had imagined it a bit brighter. How could Hermione stand to be there for so many hours a day? Perhaps that was why Hermione’s flat was cramped and wooden, filled with Muggle implements, a stark contrast to her workplace. Or perhaps Hermione’s work was mainly in the field. Hermione was always cognizant of her duty to maintain silence around the details of her job, despite Bella’s prying. 

She disrobed without assistance - the magical seal would stop anyone, including their house elves, from entering her room - and slipped into bed naked. Her mind skipped immediately to her lover. There was little else that gave her any sense of comfort or pleasure, but she didn’t think of the hot nights in Hermione’s apartment, the beaded sweat that she liked to lick from Hermione’s muscled back and along the fine hairs of her temple. No, she remembered Hermione scrambling to pull on her jeans so that she could get to the pizza store in time. She remembered the look on Hermione’s face when she said that she could never escape the trap that the pureblood hierarchy had closed around them. It was true that she was still afraid. But seeing Hermione’s face fall, and knowing that Hermione would risk herself without a second thought to have Bella fully - that had changed things for Bella, too. She’d stayed up long after Hermione had fallen asleep, watching her lover’s soft breathing and concocting a plan.

In the morning, she roused Rod with a sharp kick to the side of his bed. “Roddy,” she said sweetly when his eyes opened. “You know, I think I have an idea of who’s been throwing those firebombs in Diagon Alley. Don’t you think it would be a delight to join them in it? Will you call on Crabbe with me this afternoon?”

“Muuumph,” Rod mumbled, blinking slowly.

“I’m sure you’ll be presentable by then,” Bella said in her most wifely tone.

“Firebombs in Diagon Alley?” he finally managed.

“Yes, dear. You haven’t heard? The Muggleborn shops are being attacked.” She looked at him, some of the friendly facade fading without her intention. Of course he wouldn’t know about such things. He did not keep up with the news, and in the past six months since she’d been seeing Hermione, he’d begun drinking heavily alone. She suspected that he had completely stopped seeing the people he called his friends - she suspected that the loose gambling group did not miss him, except for the infusion of cash he consistently provided. 

Some part of her felt sorry for her ne'er-do-well husband, who had never found a passion and had failed at any effort he made. She thought he probably had begun assuming that he could never succeed at anything.

He surprised her by saying, “Bella, you were out of the house all day." He was blinking in confusion at her, clearly having forgotten exactly when she’d been absent, and for how long. “Where have you been going at night?”

“I’ve been visiting Narcissa,” she told him airily, and departed. 

  
  


Bella followed in the wake of the group of tall men. Crabbe’s heavy frame headed the crowd, stomping and absently brushing the long vines of a nearby cafe from his shoulders. Each of the group wore heavy black robes, sweltering in the heat of the summer night, and a red handkerchief over their faces. 

Crabbe had been easy to convince. Rod’s hangover had made him more silent than usual, but Bella more than made up the difference. They hadn’t planned another attack until Thursday, but Bella convinced him that Monday would be better - they’d only ever attacked on Thursdays, which was poor strategy, and he heard her argument clearly. The hardest part was convincing him that she, as Rod’s wife, could attend at all. She supposed that her passion for the cause, as it were, had finally won him over.

These purebloods were so low in their ambitions. Bella imagined the group of them to be sheep, dull and easy to flock, but lacking in vision. If there had been a real leader among them - if Bella spent more than an afternoon wooing their stupid leader - Bella dismissed the thought with a shake of her head. She’d decided that she’d reveal them to law enforcement, after all. She restrained the instinctive ambitiousness that made her almost send sparklers from the tip of her wand, calling them all back, telling them that the mission had been compromised, and then earning their trust and uniting them under her own banner. No - she could tell them it was Rod that betrayed them, certainly - and she could formulate a far more effective plan of domination and terror than the one they’d fallen into - but her purpose was to escape the pureblood circles, not fall more deeply into them, and her passion and heart was with Hermione Granger, Auror. Mudblood. It would be madness to consider it, except as a passing fancy.

It was a passing fancy, Bella reminded herself as they approached the Muggleborn shop she’d identified to the Aurors. Crabbe had almost passed it before the Aurors appeared, faces unobscured, wands raised.

Crabbe turned to the nearest Auror and rumbled, “You.” Bella focused on the woman - it was a woman - it was Hermione. Her heart leapt in her chest, and she took a few long steps forward before remembering herself.

“Under order of the Chief Warlock, you are all under arrest,” said the Head Auror, drawing attention to himself.

Crabbe turned his head back to Hermione, stalking forward, sparks flying from the end of his wand.

“Stand down, Crabbe!” Bella cried. She ripped the bandana off her face and took the last few steps to pass him, turning with her wand pointed at him. “I was I that betrayed you. It's over - drop your wand." 

She hadn’t meant to do this. Her face burned as she looked into his eyes, trying to avoid the rest of the mens’ stares.

“Bella,” Rod breathed. “How -”

The rest of his speech was broken off by the Aurors, who rushed forward, overwhelming the purebloods and disarming them by hand. It was quickly over, and the shocked, de-masked men were led away by the contingent of Aurors, leaving only Bella, Hermione, and the Head Auror. 

Hermione was a pasty white. “Bella, I -” 

“We’ll talk,” Bella said. She turned on the Head Auror. “Well?” 

“Thank you, Madam Lestrange,” he said, lowering his head in an approximation of a proper bow.

Bella cleared her throat, casting a short glance at Hermione, and Disapparated to the threshold of Hermione’s Muggle flat. 

She opened the door with her key and settled in, disrobing and selecting a long T-shirt from Hermione’s closet. She was hungry, but Hermione had virtually no food in her flat, and Bella was not enthused at the idea of trying to cook again. She pulled Hermione’s blankets up to her chin, breathing deep the reassuring scent of her lover, and slept easily. 

She was awoken by the sound of the apartment door opening and closing, roughly, and smiled to herself in knowing that Hermione didn’t expect to find her here. She kept her eyes closed and tried to restrain her happiness.

“Bella?” Hermione’s voice was rough and upset, at the door to the bedroom and looking on at Bella. 

Bella fluttered her eyes as if waking. “Hermione?” she answered innocently.

“What did you do?” Hermione’s eyebrows were furrowed, her posture defensive, her uniform still on.

“Come to bed, dear,” Bella purred, stretching languidly.

“I don’t hear from you for nearly a week. And then - this?” 

“I dealt with our problem,” Bella said, sitting up a little, beginning to feel maligned. 

“You what?”

“Rod was our problem, dear,” she explained patiently. “If not for Rod, I would be as free as Andy. Now, he’ll be sent to Azkaban, and I’ll have grounds for divorce.”

“It wasn’t him.” Hermione was still standing tall, accusing in the twilit shadows of the apartment.

“Of course it was him,” Bella purred back. “Who else would have concocted such an idiotic scheme? And how else would I have known about it?” She’d always known she would have to lie to Hermione. Her lover was too good-hearted, too pure, to allow an unjust prosecution to proceed. And it was essential to Bella’s plan for the prosecution to proceed. 

“Why were you there, Bella? I know for a - for a goddamned _fact_ that you were not at most of the firebombings.” 

“Well,” Bella said. She threw off the sheets and stood to approach Hermione. “Had to be there for this one. I wanted to see Rod taken away in chains. It was a victory for good.” She pouted. “Wouldn’t you say, my dearest?”

She unbuttoned Hermione’s shirt, and the other woman let her, although her hands fluttered down to rest on Bella’s forearms. Her hands were hot-palmed, sweaty.

Bella leaned in to Hermione’s chest as she uncovered it, opening her mouth, unable to resist the taste of Hermione’s flesh. She sucked lightly, tracing a wet line to the woman’s throat. Something inside Bella’s chest melted when Hermione removed her hot hands from Bella’s forearms and teased along the tattered bottom of the too-large shirt she wore. Her skin rippled where Hermione’s fingers brushed it. 

“Why don’t we just go to bed?” Bella whispered, her heart lighting up in hope. 

“You’re divorcing him over this,” Hermione repeated to her breathlessly. “You’re really doing it.” 

“I’ll be free,” Bella returned. She drew away from Hermione to meet those sweet brown doe-eyes. Hermione clenched her jaw, and Bella put her fingers up to caress the spot. “Free to love you, which is all I ever wanted to do.”

“It seems impossible,” Hermione said.

“Come here,” Bella returned, and loosened Hermione’s belt buckle, undoing the button on her pants. Hermione stepped out of her clothing, shrugging off her shirt, and followed Bella to bed. She was most interested in holding Bella tight, although when Bella arched her back and offered her breasts, she ducked her head and bit her nipples with a heady, dazed exhaustion.

“It’s early for you,” Bella said. She was certain that Hermione could smell her arousal. And why should she be ashamed of it? This was the culmination of six years of suffering, this, tonight. 

“Late,” Hermione corrected, looking up at Bella with dark eyes. 

Bella put one ankle behind Hermione’s buttocks and pressed her body close, feeling their skin slick together with sweat. If she could not have Hermione tonight, she would live, she thought. “I want you,” she said instead. “Please, if you’re able -”

“Let me wash my hands,” Hermione said. She stumbled up, as if drunk, and went to the bathroom. Bella listened to the sound of the faucet, of Hermione washing up quickly, and turned to her side, holding the sheets and cover tightly in front of her and trying not to hope too hard. 

Hermione settled back into the bed behind Bella and warmed her hands between her thighs.

“Remember when I laid like this in your bed?” Bella said. She meant at Hogwarts, in Hermione’s prefect bed, when Bella was a sixth-year and Hermione about to graduate. She’d felt so much like she was breaking the rules, but Hermione had been firm and welcoming, even after Bella had confessed her love, and even after what had come of that love.

“Mmmh, yes,” Hermione murmured, and her still-chill hands wrapped around Bella’s hips, drawing her close against her warm, naked skin. Bella could feel the soft swells of her breasts against her own bony back. 

“Do you remember how I wanted you? So desperately, as if there was nothing but us in the world. Hermione - that is what we have now. That is where we are - oh.” Hermione’s right hand had quested between her thighs, finding her clit easily. Bella clamped her legs down around Hermione’s hand and ground her hips, reaching behind and under Hermione’s panties to return the touch.

Hermione’s breath was heavy against her ear, and Bella thought that Hermione might finally allow her to touch her in return. She focused her attention on her finger, drawing slick patterns around Hermione’s clit, and Hermione collapsed into her body bonelessly.

Bella pushed her lower leg up to welcome Hermione, and Hermione’s finger slipped inside her, hooking up without any traction or depth. The motion increased the pressure on Bella’s clit, and Bella stroked the side of Hermione’s clit slowly, rhythmically, trying to draw out her partner’s pleasure.

“Bella, you know that - you’re the only one,” Hermione managed, her breath gasping against Bella’s throat. 

“Yes,” Bella whispered. She reveled in the sensation of finally, after five years of waiting - finally being able to touch her partner and truly pleasure her. “You’re the only one, Hermione,” she said, and Hermione’s hips crashed forward twice, fleetingly, hungry and finding satisfaction.

Bella’s body blossomed in response. Hermione’s hand nearly stilled as she orgasmed, and Bella ground her hips into Hermione’s palm and saw stars, without a sense of how to stop needing more.

Hermione’s hips settled, and then she pushed Bella’s body to laying and settled herself between Bella’s thighs, without disengaging her finger inside her. She kissed Bella deeply, and her finger worked inside.

Bella cried out, shaking with the sensation, and clutched Hermione to her chest. Hermione put her temple against Bella’s heart and stroked her, and Bella shook and came soundlessly, thunderously. 

Bella brushed sweat-sodden strands of hair away from Hermione’s face. “Better?”

“Unbelievable,” Hermione breathed, and kissed her again wetly. “I’m not tired.” Her eyes twinkled suddenly, lit by the street lamp that shone through her third-story window.

Bella didn’t respond verbally, but she did wiggle her hips and clench around Hermione’s fingers, and Hermione dipped her head to kiss her. 


End file.
